The Invaders
Approaching Calais the loudspeaker is insis- tent and repetitive; the Daffodil will leave promptly at five o'clock. The Daffodil will wait for no one. Then some do not wish to disembark; some cannot; one man tries hard to rise, then finally sinks back into his chair, his smile the smile of the blessed. The French coast is not for him. Some know from past years that many of the bars in Calais serve English draught; for others this is the discovery that will make their day. No question of them idly walking the streets, their three hours are pre-arranged. Some will window-shop, the more intrepid attempting purchases. buying presents and seeking a cup of tea. They are besieged by French salesmen in the streets, all speaking English and peddling watches and headscarves. On the whole the English resist, and the French look hurt. It is hot. Off come the jackets and up go the sleeves; flesh that is whiter than white exudes. The English are uncomfortable, but they are deter- mined, too. They straggle, a long thin line along the streets, waiting for five o'clock.
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